The Angel's new pupil
by American Punk
Summary: Erik cannot die until he has found someone to love him despite his deformity, both physical and emotional. Resigned to an eternity on earth, he lives beneath a theatre in California, where he hears the voice of Chantelle and realizes he must teach again.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Ah, if I owned the story I know how I'd make it end, but alas I do not own it, so I must content myself with this.

Life is cruel; it is torturous to be forced to live in a world such as this. I can not die until I find someone who shall love me despite my deformity. As much as I claim there is no God, I know there must be, but a God who is callous and unfeeling. One who watches his creations with a never-ending source of amusement.

I miss my old France. The France in which I loved a woman and held the disillusion that she may one day love me as well. I was a fool, and it is my foolishness that causes me to continue living in a perpetual state of thirty-five years old. I was in the twenty-first century France where all the charm and beauty has been lost to technology. While in my earlier years I wanted nothing more than the convenience that this new world provides, but now I would give it all away to have back my old sweet France. I cannot, thus I left it and came to this rough, abrasive country. The United States of America, united indeed. The divisions here are preposterous. I have resigned myself to living beneath the California Theatre in a dingy neighborhood in a horrid part of California. Call it a penance, or more accurately my own insanity torturing me in all new ways.

I am doomed to wander this theatre for all my days, little more than the ghost I once claimed to be. Choices, it was all about the choices I made. I made foolish ones; I live forever to regret it.

Now I shall go and see the preparations for the newest Opera to be performed here, my own. It is another cruelty of God to have my love of Christine made a mockery of in such a way, call it another penance that I will watch all that goes on with the production.

I sit here, just beneath the stage to listen to the auditions for Christine Daae and I cannot help but wince at the latest attempt at the aria in Hannibal this new halfwit has chosen to sing. I hear the management call out "Thank you, that will be quite enough" and I smile. As much as I loathe the life I have chosen for the time being I must admit the woman who is charge if the casting is quite amusing. I hear her mutter "Good God, that one sounded like a cat that's been stepped on" and I nod, agreeing with her fully. There is a pause as she scrutinizes the papers with the names of the girls who are auditioning for the part of my former love and then hear her cry out "Chantelle Doss, you're next."

I look at the girl who looks quite nervous and glances back at the other girl she had been sitting with. The girl gives her an encouraging smile and she steps forward. As soon as her back is turned, however, the other girl makes a face and frowns, causing all the others to burst into a fit of silent giggling. I survey this Chantelle with bored acceptance. She is pretty enough, long hair that is more brown than red and large solemn brown eyes that seem to be the exact shade of her auburn hair. Her skin is pale, but not sallow and she is of a decent height, judging by the way she stands several inches taller than the girl who just bounced off stage, she'd be about 5'7''. Very different from Christine in appearance, but pleasant to the eye all the same. Her most prominent feature would have to be her lips, full and deep pink even without the aid of lipstick. In fact, she has no make-up on whatsoever. This is quite different from the girls who appear behind her.

She opens her mouth and doesn't make a sound; I can't help but feel disappointed at this timidity.

"Well," the manager asks, "are you going to sing, or are you going to stand there all day?"

At this the catty girls around her friend burst into animated giggles and her cheeks flush pinker that they already naturally were.

"I'll sing." Her voice is pleasant, my hopes do not rise, though, as I have heard pleasanter voices that could not sing well. "I'll sing the song 'Wishing you were somehow here again.'" She glances around, nervously. Then begins to sing. At the first sound of her voice, my body goes rigid. She is truly exquisite.

You were once my one companion . . .  
you were all that mattered . . .  
You were once a friend and father,  
then my world was shattered . . .

My mouth is dry, she sang the lyrics as though she had lived them, not as though she had memorized them. The crystal clarity of her voice silences all remaining titters, and everything seems to stop as she takes each note and caresses it like a mother does a favored child 

Wishing you were somehow here again . . .  
wishing you were somehow near . . .  
Sometimes it seemed if I just dreamed,  
somehow you would be here . . .

Wishing I could hear your voice again . . .  
knowing that I never would . . .   
Dreaming of you won't help me to do  
all that you dreamed I could . . .

Passing bells and sculpted angels,  
cold and monumental,  
seem, for you the wrong companions -  
you were warm and gentle . . .  
Too many years fighting back tears . . .   
Why can't the past just die . . .?

Wishing you were somehow here again . . .  
knowing we must say goodbye . . .  
Try to forgive, teach me to live . . .  
give me the strength to try . . .

No more memories, no more silent tears . . .  
No more gazing across the wasted years . . .  
Help me say goodbye.  
Help me say goodbye!

When she finishes, there is a silence that no one dares to disrupt. She looks at her hands as though she believes this silence is because of her ineptitude, not because of her perfection. Perhaps she does think so. I begin to clap, starting the applause from all around the stage where everyone is seated. I notice, though, while everyone else seems to want to congratulate her at once, her friend hangs back, not applauding, not smiling. I notice the danger in the cold calculation of the girl's eyes. She is no friend, but a foe in disguise.

"Brava, my dear, brava." The manager doesn't seem the least bit cross with her now, but beams her an exuberant smile. "You did very well."

"Thank you." Her voice, I cannot help but notice, which had only moments ago rang with confidence though the room, is back to timid again. It seems she is only content when she sings. This is one thing I can understand.

"Where on Earth were you trained?"

Chantelle falters, and unease crosses her face. "Trained?"

"Yes," then manager continues, "who taught you to control your voice?"

"I have no formal training. I did not know that was a requirement. I would never have auditioned had I known it was. I am sorry for wasting your time."

"No, Ms. Doss. It is not a requirement. I just assumed, with a voice like that you must have had many years of intense training."

I am beside myself. She has had no training? Her obvious discomfort made me assume this was not something she ever gave thought to. If her voice is that good without any training, then what would it be like with my gentle guidance?

It seems the angel of music has found himself a new pupil.

Review please.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I own nothing. I am merely a slave to my writing.

The most incredible thing happened today. I went to the California Theatre to try out for Christine, and I actually got the part! It was very strange though, it was as though someone was watching me; someone I couldn't see. I know it's foolish, but I felt it. It must be the play affecting me.

I always felt as though the play was very special. When I was younger I'd imagine I was Christine, and every time I was alone I'd think of that instead of the crushing loneliness that I imagine most children would have being left alone for days at a time. It wasn't my father's fault, he loved me, he just loved his own life more. Perhaps it was just a child's fancy, but I have noticed a few similarities between she and I. Our names are similar. Chantelle Doss and Christine Daae both have the same initials and the same amount of letters in the first and last names. It's foolish, but I enjoyed the comparisons as a child/

Now I've found something I can truly enjoy, and to make it even more wonderful, Jessica has gotten the part of Meg. She's always been so supportive of me, when I would have frozen for fear she pushed me forward. She is truly the best friend I have ever had, even if she is a bit condescending sometimes. It just seems to fit that we would play friends in the play as well. I should pay attention to what's being said; I wouldn't want to make a fool of myself.

"Now then," the manager, Harriet, whom everyone fondly calls Harry, stated "you should all study and learn your lines, this is a very important play. Scripts are one the table."

Learn our lines? I don't need to; I've memorized the entire play. Not just Christine's part, but all of the other parts as well. I shouldn't say anything, though. I appear to already be skating on thin ice with the other girls. No one but Jessica speaks to me, and Jessica only did so for a few minutes today.

I can't help but notice one of the girls, I believe her name is Victoria, seems less happy than yesterday. She almost seems depressed. It's none of my business, but I feel as though I have to say something.

When Harriet dismissed us for the day, I couldn't stop myself from walking up to Victoria.

"May I speak to you?"

Victoria looked at me oddly, but nodded.

"Is something wrong. You don't seem to be as sweet as usual."

"Sweet? You think I'm sweet?"

"Yes, you haven't given me a reason to think otherwise."

"Oh, but I have. I feel awful about it. We've been speaking about sabotaging you. By we I mean t he other more experienced girls. You can't imagine how much we hated seeing someone who had never been here before get the lead role. I thought for sure that it would be someone who had been on stage before. Jessica has been livid."

I felt my heart falter. "Jessica?"

"Yes. She told us all about you. How you pretended to be sweet and naïve, but are truthfully a horrid creature. You aren't though, are you?"

"I don't think so. She really said that." I feel like a fool. This has happened before, but Jessica has been the closest friend I've had, I thought that perhaps she would stop the cruelty, but I was wrong. Perhaps she never will.

"I have to go." Victoria blurted. She reached out and touched my arm, jerking me from my reverie. "I'll see you tomorrow." She turned to leave, but glanced over her shoulder. "For the record, I think you're one of the kindest girls I've met."

I think I made a new friend, but I've lost another.

I waited for the room to empty, and slowly it did. Even Harriet left telling me she'd locked up, and all I had to do was close the doors behind me, and still I sat on a chair staring ahead of me. I felt completely unprepared for what happened, yet somehow I suspected it all along.

"I'm such a fool. Perhaps I should just drop out of the entire musical."

_NO_! my mind screamed at me. _Don't_ _you dare let her win, not again. This is something you love, don't let her ruin it for you. Don't show her you were hurt._

I had to walk to the stage for my bag. Upon lifting it from the floor, a paper fluttered from the open bag. I was sure I'd closed it.

I reached for the letter and to my shock I felt the thickness of the paper. It was a creamy velum, and felt smoother than any other paper I'd held. I began to read the words, and warmth spread through my body with each word that had been lovingly scripted onto the beautiful paper.

_Chantelle,_

_While your voice may be acceptable, you do need tutoring. I am available after rehearsals, I'd advise you show up._

_Your teacher,_

_The Phantom of the Opera_

I'm amazed, torn between thinking it is a prank, and wanting to believe with all of my heart that it was written by the Phantom. The letter is short, curt almost, but it seems to be the most wonderful letter I've ever received. I don't even know what to think. This is overwhelming, but if it _is_ the real thing, what will I do?

That's obvious.

I will learn all I need to learn. I will try my best to please my teacher. I will live up to the role of Christine Daae. After all, our names _are_ quite similar. Chantelle Doss, Christine Daae, nine letters in the first name, four in the last, two the same letters, and the same initials.

Why am I thinking about this now? I've never been struck speechless before, but I wouldn't be able to speak a word to anyone at the moment.

Should I write a letter in return? Maybe that's how I agree to the lessons. No, it would be just showing up for the lessons that would show my acquiescence, wouldn't it?

No matter how much I've read the book and the books that are written about the book, and how often I've seen the play and watched the movie, I'm not prepared for this.

It's undoubtedly a joke, isn't it?

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